The
following entry is inspired by the children’s book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
I woke up
this morning to the soft beep-beep-beep of my wrist watch. 5:30 A.M. And I knew
it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
There was
condensation on the outside of my sleeping bag. That could only mean one thing
– it was freezing outside and considerably warmer in my sleeping bag. And I
hate getting up in the cold. It was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good,
very bad day.
I pulled on
cold clothes and damp socks. I laced up my wet boots. And I knew it was going
to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I think I’ll move to
Australia.
My tent
group had Cream of Wheat for breakfast, but the stove wouldn’t work. We tried
to borrow a stove from a different tent group, but the food tasted burnt. And I
knew it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
As we packed
our bags, it started to snow. Snow is September! While we had to paddle on a
river! It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
There were
twenty-three miles and nine portages ahead of us. And I had to be the
navigator. I hate being the navigator! I knew it was going to be a terrible,
horrible, no good, very bad day. I think I’ll move to Australia.
My hands and
feet were freezing while I sat in the canoe. My stomach began to rumble as we
neared the afternoon. My back ached from the portages and my wrist hurt from
when I slipped on the rocks. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad
day. And Ontario, Canada is nowhere near Australia!
But I was
not alone in the sufferings of the day – I had my wonderful tent mates and the
other expedition members to lean on. And as we laughed during debrief about all
the misadventures of the day, I realized that the terrible, horrible, no good,
very bad days of ECOEE would come and go, but the bonds and memories we form
will not fade. And they outweigh the challenges. As uncomfortable as it is,
there is no place I’d rather be. Not even Australia.
Jillian Ross
- Cassidy Depoy
I woke up at five am with enthusiasm. We actually made it! Our last full
day of paddling on the Missinaibi River had finally come. I was anxious to get
on the water I nearly inhaled my oatmeal while trying to pack up the last of my
things into my not-so-dry bags. It is a weird feeling- knowing that the goal
you’ve been working toward for the last month is coming up just around the bend
and tomorrow, we will be arriving at Mattice and getting off the river. It
feels so good knowing that this one last day of paddling will take me to a dry,
fresh smelling pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt.
As I’m sitting in the canoe, feet numb and pained from the cold, face
wind burnt to a crisp, muscles aching from the constant struggle to stay in a
line and keep up with the boat in front of me; I have nothing to complain
about. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, it’s a great day to be alive.
Our clothes are dry and our spirits are high. There is nothing stopping us from
reaching Mattice. We are all working so hard. I am pushing myself harder than I
ever have before, physically and mentally. But this is what we do, day in and
day out, and it hasn’t been easy. I can’t help but look back in nostalgia at
our past 27 days on the fast-moving water. We have come a LONG way since Hawk
Junction, not just in mileage but in character. Each day of this river
expedition I’ve learned things about myself and about what living like a
voyager really means. It means sacrificing your dry boots for a dry canoe, your
dignity for the prosperity of others.
This is our expedition; and it is just the beginning of it. It’s crazy to
think that we are just a month in, and it seems like just yesterday we were
struggling to load our canoes onto a trailer. The weeks out here are so long,
but the months fly by. Sometimes we forget what we came here for. We forget why
this experience means so much to us. We can choose to look at the bigger
picture; likw what our lives will look like in three months when this is all
over or how far we’ve come in being leaders of the out-of-doors. As catchy as
that sounds right now, I hope we choose to remember the small things. Singing
in the vans with the music at full blast, passing out the second we step foot
into our sleeping bags, sleeping in real beds at Kenny’s party house, laughing
until we cry about how ridiculously similar our farts smell, and the simplistic
beauty of nature. We saw falls, the moon, the winding bends in the river- and
to top off our last day out here, in the cold September air, we looked up to
the sky and saw the northern lights.
I can proudly say I am blessed to have this opportunity and blessed to have
twelve of the best friends here with me. What we are doing out here is
something we will share forever. We’ll have a semester’s worth of inside jokes
and memories that no one will understand, but I think I’m going to like it.
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